Solitary
by Ksister
Summary: S.H.I.E.L.D. thought it had gathered all the world's heroes, but it missed one. This is the story of a girl who thought she was alone in a normal world, but she realizes she was wrong. Now, together with the world's greatest heroes, she must fight the strongest foe yet. First try at a story :) No pairings, fluff, etc. Just a normal story (as normal as it gets with superheroes.)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi, everyone. Thanks for clicking my story: it's my first! Thanks to HarryPotterEncyclopedia24 for REALLY helping me SO MUCH with this story. I couldn't have done it without you!**

**And to everyone else, I hope you like this story!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Avengers or any of its characters (sadly :( )**

* * *

He walks down the almost abandoned street, dark and cold for an autumn day. The lights are all out as no one is awake. It is at times like these when he can imagine that he is back in his own time, where he should be. He can pretend those high skyscrapers and neon lights are gone, and that the buildings are plain and of normal heights, like they used to be. But he's not sure if he wants to go back, and yet he's not sure if he wants to stay. The world has changed and he along with it. It's too late to go back now, but he's much too the same to be comfortable here.

There is a scream in the darkness. Most people would pause, perhaps for a second, registering the noise, and then run in the opposite direction. No one craves for trouble. Perhaps the more reasonable would quickly pull out their phones and dial the police. These are normal reactions.

But he is not normal.

He runs toward the sound without thinking.

* * *

Maybe I shouldn't have screamed. They wouldn't be so aggressive if I hadn't. But isn't that normal, to scream when a bullet passes by your head and you fall on gravel, scraping your leg, and three men are trying to catch and kill you and you know they're going to succeed soon? I think screaming for your life would be the right decision. Now, though, with my back to the rough brick wall and a knife pressed to my throat, I'm beginning to regret my decision. Though it wasn't a decision, really. It was more a survival instinct.

The plastic packet reflects the little light from the streets. It glints tantalizingly at me, asking me to grab it and run. That's exactly what I want to do, but they'll kill me as soon as I make a move. This small packet is exactly what made me get into this mess. I glare at it, though I know that won't make any difference. All I can hope is that my death will be quick.

_Death_. The very word makes me shiver.

The man in front of me - the one holding the knife to my neck - smirks in front of me. It looks more like a snarl to me. The snarl of a wild dog ready to devour its prey. "Now we've got you, little pretty," he says. "You don't know how much trouble we've gone through to get you."

I notice his use of the 'we', rather than the 'I'. It's almost like he's emphasizing the fact that a whole organization is trying to kill me. He presses the knife a little closer, and I can't help but wince. "Well," I croak. Before continuing, I clear my throat. "Now that you have got me, you might as well want to get it over with, don't you? Before I run away like last time, remember?"

He glares at me, obviously angered at the memory. I smile at my little victory. But it doesn't last long. He slides the knife up my chin, starting a thin red line up my neck. It stings and burns. My breath comes shallow and quickly, and I can feel my heartbeat pounding in my chest, now that he's started.

He looks at me straight in the face. "You've got such a pretty little face. We wouldn't want to ruin it now, would we? Oh, actually, maybe we do." He nicks my face with the tip of his knife. I wince. This won't be the quick death I hoped for. I close my eyes, waiting for more pain.

* * *

He arrives at the source of the scream: a dark alley. He cannot hear much else but mutters, nor can he see anything either. It is perfect for suspicious happenings. He inches closer to the alley, keeping close to the wall to hide. It comes naturally to him now, these sneaking practices. He can just make out shadows, recognizing the big ones in the back with bulky attachments as men with guns, and the slightly smaller shadow in the front with a small glint of light as a man with a knife. _The man in the front is probably the leader of this armed group,_ he deduces. _But what are they doing?_

Then, he notices a small figure pushed to the wall of the crumbling building. It is too small and too slim to be an adult. He curses under his breath. It is a child. They are threatening a child. _How low had people of this age stooped?_ He sees the shadow of a trickle of blood down the knife. There is no more time to lose. He grabs the lid of a trashcan, loudly on purpose. Strangely, he feels as if he had done this in another time, in another place. But there is no time for this thinking. The heads turn towards him. Time to start.

* * *

I hear the clang of metal against metal. So does he, as he turns his head towards the noise, loosening his grip on me. There won't be another chance like this, ever. I bite hard on his hand, tasting his sweaty flesh and some blood. He shouts and grabs his hand as he lets me go. I fall hard to the ground, turning to run away, but he slams his foot on my chest, preventing me. I hadn't thought this far.

"That's it," he cries as he lunges at me with his knife. I pathetically try to turn, but his foot is too heavy, and he is pushing too hard, creating a heavy pressure that pushes the air out of my lungs. _This is the end_, I think as I close my eyes. I hear a distant thud of a large and heavy object hitting flesh. I never thought a knife stab would sound like this. It sounds too loud and too dull.

Carefully, I open my eyes to see a man standing in front of me. I try to rise but my chest hurts too much and I fall back. The man comes closer and I wait for the shot, the stab, the end. But it doesn't come. Instead, I see the shadowed features of his face in front of me.

The man is wearing a dark gray hoodie, covering his head. His black trousers are worn out and torn in certain places. There is a tinge of red on his knees, which looks suspiciously like blood. The battered sneakers complete his rugged look. But the most striking feature is his blue eyes that shine through the shadow cast by his hood.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

I nod carefully. Out of all the things I expected, this was not one of them. I survey my surroundings. The men are lying on the floor, unconscious or dead, I am not sure. I don't know which one I would prefer. Probably the latter, though that want makes me feel nauseous. They were trying to kill me anyway.

"Alright," he says, "now, I'm going to ask you a few questions. I want you to answer them as well as you can, okay?" He talks to me as if I am five years old. I don't mind much, though. It's nice to be talked that way for the first time in a long time. And besides, I'm small for my age, notwithstanding that I am around fifteen now. I don't blame him for making that mistake.

"First, are you sure you're fine?" he asks. I sigh inwardly and nod, again. He just saved my life. The least I can do is answer all his questions.

"Second, do you know where your parents are? Or where you live? Your address or home phone number?" I hadn't expected this question. I thought he would ask something more along the lines of, _why the hell were people trying to kill you?_ Maybe that question will come later.

I take a deep breath before saying, as steadily as I can, "The people who were trying to kill me, they killed my parents too." Saying these words make my chest ache more. It makes everything seem more real. I see his eyes change in the darkness. Surprise, first, then understanding, and then hard resolve. He slowly stands up and I realize he is taller and heavier built than I expected. No wonder he was able to fight and win against three trained murderers.

"All right," he says, "I'm taking you to the police station." My eyes widen in panic, which he apparently sees before saying, "You're not in trouble. We're just going to report these people, try to get everything sorted." I'm about to protest, explaining why I can't go anywhere near a police station, but I catch a glint of light from an upstairs window. The glint of a piece of metal. A gun.

"Get down!" I shout, tackling him to the ground. A bullet whizzes just above our heads. I hear the sniper reloading his gun and taking aim again. But before the sniper can shoot, he crumples to the ground. I see the man holding a gun that wasn't there a second ago. He looks composed, and mutters something under his breath.

"Change of plan. I'm taking you to my house, which is safe, and I'm going to call some… friends, to take care of these people." I like this plan better, and nod vigorously in agreement.

Before we leave, I take the packet from the pocket of the man who tried to kill me. Finally, I have it back. The man sees it and then looks at me suspiciously. I wonder why, before realizing the packet contains pills. I hurriedly explain, "These aren't drugs."

He obviously doesn't believe me. I'll have to go into more detail, though I really don't want to. "I have a strange… disease, which means I need to take special pills that are sold nowhere everyday. Or else I die. But these people stole it from me to make me reveal myself to them. They want to kill me."

"Why?" he interjects.

"Why what? Why do they want to kill me?" He nods. The question has finally come. How do I say this as truthfully as possible? "I know something that I shouldn't," I answer carefully. That is true. I also _am _something I shouldn't be, but I don't need to say that, yet. He apparently takes my word for it. I open the packet and take one pill out with a sweaty hand. The relief of retrieving the medicine makes my hand shake, so I quickly pop the pill into my mouth before it falls to the ground. I set the timer on my wristwatch to thirty minutes, the time it will take for the medicine to start working.

I stare at the lifeless bodies on the ground, crumpled into a heap. "Are they… dead?" I ask, a lump forming in my throat. I've never been too comfortable with corpses.

"No, they're probably unconscious. Nothing you need to worry about," he looks at me strangely, as if questioning my concern. "My… friends will take care of the bodies."

He motions with his head, an indication that we should be leaving now. I agree. I get up and follow him, trying to ignore the pain in my chest. The murderer must have had very heavy boots, or perhaps those with the spikes on them. There will be a bruise there tomorrow.

As we near the corner, a black car approaches us. I don't recognize the car, but I do recognize the triangle on the hood, the one with three circles on each of its vertices. The sign. Instinct tells me I should run in the opposite direction as fast as possible, but reason tells me to stay here. If I leave this man who saved me with those people, they will kill him just for being with me. I can't let that happen.

I whisper to the man, "These people are one of them." It's an extremely vague sentence and I think I'll need to elaborate, but he miraculously gets it and slowly draws his gun. I know better, though, that a confrontation is not the way. "We need to run," I whisper urgently as the car creeps closer to us. He gets that too.

"Try to keep up," he says and grabs my hand. Just as the car doors open, we run away. I hear bullets firing at us and duck my head. Somehow, we reach the abandoned warehouses before they catch up with us. There's a large metal padlock in front of the warehouse. It's a dead end.

My heartbeat races as a wildly look around for a different exit. There is none.

* * *

**A/N: So, my first chapter in my first story. Thanks to everyone who's read it. Any advice whatsoever would be nice, as I'm completely new at writing :) Thanks!**

**Also, I'll try to update weekly, at least, so please await the next chapter!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!**

**Well, actually, Christmas is already over here, but I suppose for those of you on the other side of the world, it is still Christmas? I'm really bad with time zones, so please excuse me if I'm wrong.**

**So, second chapter of this story. Thanks to ElectricAnya, IrishArcher, TheMostRandomofRandomWriters, twilightxxpotterxxvampirexxx for following and CrazyPandaHobbit for the review.**

**And of course HPE24 for being of great help :)**

**Enough ranting. Onwards!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers. Only my own character.**

* * *

When I look back to the locked door, the padlock is broken. The man holds the broken pieces of metal in his hands. He notices me staring and says, "Must have been rusty." That makes sense. I run inside the warehouse and he follows me, shutting the door behind us. The men are not far behind.

I can feel myself starting to panic. I take deep breaths, trying to think clearly. This is not the time for hysteria. It is the time for a plan. But I have none. The best I can do is make sure this man doesn't get hurt.

"Sir, I thank you so much for saving my life. Which is exactly why I cannot let you die because of me. These people will willingly kill anyone who is associated with me, and I cannot let that happen any longer. Please, there is a back door on the other side of this room, just slip out and I'll distract them while you're leaving. Please go, now," I say, pushing him in the direction of the door. He won't budge.

"I don't think you understand, but I'm more suited for fights than you are. In more than the obvious ways," he says, scrutinizing my small build.

"I don't think _you_ understand, sir, what you're up against. I don't care if you're a police officer, or a trained fighter, or whatever. These men are more than whatever you are. You won't be able to keep them off."

"You don't know what I am. But if you did, you'd probably say something different." Suddenly he drags me towards the boxes. I try to resist, but he is much stronger than me.

"So, here's the plan. I will stay out here while you hide in one of the boxes." I look at the metal box he is referring to. It is sealed tight. I'm about to protest that there is no time for these jokes, when he slides off the lid with ease. He lifts me into the box and puts the lid back on. "Only come out when I tell you to" is the last thing he says.

I immediately try to open the lid, but it is sealed tight, again. That's strange. He seemed to have put it on gently. I bang the ceiling a couple of times, but it will not move. I'm about to call out for him to open it, when I hear gunshots and the door break down. I freeze. Quietly, I creep to the side of the box and find a small opening, where I can see what is going on outside.

The hooded man is standing, calm and composed, in front of several armed men who are surrounding him. I want to scream at him to run, but I stop myself from doing so. One of the armed men steps toward him. "Where is she?" he asks coldly. He clicks his trigger. I gulp, even though he can't see me. The man who saved me crosses his arms. Why is he not pointing madly to where I am? I would, if I were in his position.

Instead, he says, "You don't need to know that. What you do need to know is that I am a trained soldier. And so I'm giving you one last chance to scram."

The armed man has a sinister light in his eyes. "That's what I would tell you, except I need you here right now." He gives a click of his fingers. I only hear the whoosh of a flying object before the man who saved me is pushed to the wall, his feet above the ground. I stifle a scream. He's still alive, thankfully, but he is evidently shocked. The armed men are coming closer, pointing their rifles at him. The man struggles against metal rings that are cuffing his wrists. "Now, I'm going to ask you this one more time. _Where is she?_"

The man does not reply. He pulls harder against the rings. "Don't bother," the armed man says, "this is state-of-the-art technology. The strongest man in the world couldn't undo it." There is a silence. The armed man looks annoyed. "Fine then."

"Elizabeth Turner." I cringe at him calling my name. "I know that you are here somewhere. So, I shall tell you something. At the count of three, my men will shoot this man over here. I expect you to hand yourself in before that." My heart pounds in my chest.

"One."

I can't let them kill me.

"Two."

But I can't watch as they kill someone else, either.

"Stop! I'm here," I call out. I finally manage to lift the lid off the box. As soon as my head is above the box, two strong men drag me out. Their vice-like grip makes me wince. They deposit me in front of their leader, pushing me down on my knees. I can't bring myself to look at the man who saved me.

"Well, what do we have here," the leader drawls. "The rat has finally shown herself." He kicks me in the chest and I let out a groan. He must have a knack for knowing where it will hurt the most. He then turns to the man who saved me. "Look at her. Isn't she so innocent? She didn't even let me count to three." He pouts mockingly while the man glares at him. One of the armed men comes up to the leader and whispers something in his ear. His face turns sour. Then he turns to me. "I don't have much time here. You've caused enough of a mess as it is. So let's finish this once and for all." He points his gun at me. Then he smiles. "Any last words?"

My wristwatch starts beeping. Everyone stares at it, but I don't need to. I know what it is. I laugh shakily. "Yes, I do have last words." Everyone stares at me. "Time's up."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm actually going to the U.S. tomorrow (moving! Yay!) and so probably won't have internet connection or enough time to post a story for around two weeks. So, I'm posting this Chapter 3 earlier than I should. Hope you like it!**

**Thanks to Lazerraider and emc2fantasyfan for the follows!**

**And HPE24 :)**

**You guys all rock!**

**Disclaimer: No, still don't own them.**

* * *

The girl is kneeling in front of the men with a gun to her head, execution style. He doesn't have much time. He needs a distraction. But he cannot think of one.

There is a beeping sound. He turns, along with the others, in the direction of the sound. It comes from the girl's watch. She laughs, and then moves her wrist slightly.

Then all havoc breaks loose.

Boxes fly around the air, hitting the armed men and knocking them to the floor. Some of the faster ones duck to the floor, but they are soon swept and thrown into walls. He looks back at the girl.

She is standing up now, waving her arms like a conductor. Her hair is flying wildly, but the flying objects never hit her. Instead, she seems to be the one who is controlling them. The objects don't hit him, either, he notices.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees one of the armed men creeping and hiding behind a box. The armed man trains his rifle on him, getting ready to fire. The armed man pulls the trigger. There is a bang.

* * *

I barely have to look when I call the boxes. It is like calling, or like pulling the strings of a puppet, or orchestrating an entire ensemble. It is hard to explain this feeling, but it gives me power. It _is_ a power. My power.

I knock them out before they even have the time to realize their mistake. One should never procrastinate, and they did in not killing me when they had the chance. I stand up, pulling a heavy crate and pushing it towards the group of men in the back. They scram, but it's too late. They fall to the ground, unconscious.

Now, I need to free the man who saved me. I don't know what the metal rings on his wrists are, but I somehow need to release them. I turn toward the man. He is looking towards the boxes on the other side, tense. I follow his gaze and see a man firing a bullet at him. Quickly, I concentrate my force in front of the man. The bullet bounces off the invisible shield.

* * *

Instinctively, he twists his body to avoid the bullet hitting anywhere vital. But the bullet does not come. He sees it bounce off a wall in front of him. The girl is facing him, with her palm outstretch, as if she is telling someone or something to stop. Her tense body relaxes after she sees the man is safe.

But she does not see the armed man retraining his target. The target is now her.

* * *

I hear the man shout, "Behind you!"

I turn around, but stop midway. Something has hit my back and the force shocks my body. Pain, unlike nothing I have felt before, sears through my back. I fall to my knees.

* * *

The man with the gun is ready to fire again. He hit her back and is now aiming again. Only one more fatal shot is needed.

The hooded man tugs once more at his wrists. The rings stay in place. But the fragile dry wall does not. It crumbles, freeing him from the wall.

Immediately, the man draws his gun and shoots at the sniper. The sniper falls before he can shoot the girl, falling into a heap. There is no one left standing, except for the man and the girl. Everyone else is on the floor, dead or unconscious. The man runs to the girl.

* * *

My body seems drawn to the floor. It wants to fall, and it takes all my will to resist and stay kneeling. The pain in my back burns, spreading its fire-like tongues to the rest of my body. My vision is spotted with black spots that grow. I cannot resist any longer.

As I fall, I feel something catch me. I try to blink the dots from my eyes to see what it is, but the dots persistently stay. I manage to see, though, the man's face. He is probably shocked from what I did. I need to explain. I open my mouth to say something, but then the world is dark.

* * *

He holds her as she loses consciousness and checks her wound. Luckily, it is not fatal, but if the blood loss continues, it will be. He staunches the blood flow with his hand and brings out a phone from his pocket. He presses speed dial. The person on the other line immediately picks up, as he always does.

"What is it, Captain?" says the voice on the other line.

"Director, there's a gang who's tried to kill a girl. The gang is out cold but the girl is bleeding severely here. I need a medical team here now," the man replies.

"Captain, I'm here for more important things than petty crimes," the voice says, annoyed. Only he could call a gang murder a 'petty crime'. "Call the local authorities, not me. Why are you asking me to clean this up?"

The man pauses, weighing his next words for its consequences and truth. He decides that it is the best thing to say. "She's one of us," he says.

There is barely a pause on the other line before the voice says, "I'll send someone right away."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: So, sorry for the long wait. Settling down (and having free time to write) took longer than expected. I'll try to post more regularly now!**

**And thanks SO MUCH to HPE24 for beta-reading. It helped a lot :)**

**Disclaimer: No, AND WILL YOU STOP ASKING! It hurts remembering I don't own them *sniff sniff* ;)**

* * *

_Swaying in mid-air. Being carried by someone. Lifted onto a flat surface._

_…_

_White robes. Murmurs. A needle inserted into my arm._

_…_

_Bright clean walls. A familiar face hovering above me. Darkness._

* * *

I wake to the sound of steady beeping and the chill of cold air on my skin. My eyelids feel so heavy, wanting to stay closed, but I force them open. A feeling tells me that I need to stay alert, but I don't know why. Then, it comes crashing down on me.

Memories of the man, the warehouse, the gunshot.

I need to get out of here.

I bolt up in my bed. Immediately, pain courses through my body and I fall back with a yelp. A figure comes to near to the bed. I recognize it as the hooded man.

"Where am I?" I ask groggily. The pulsing pain fights with the sleep, but the sleep is starting to win again.

"You're safe," he replies.

"That's not really an answer," I murmur.

Damn, I really need to stay awake. I blink a couple of times and shake my head, causing more pain down my back. My blurred vision clears and I can see white walls, a heart monitor, and a chair next to the bed. A hospital.

This is bad. I need to stay away from any building that records information. Actually, any building in general.

"How long have I been out?"

"Roughly three days."

Three days. Plenty of time for the group to have found out where I am. This is worse than I thought.

I look up at the man. At least he is safe and unhurt. But I didn't expect him to stay with me for all this time. My heart drops as I realize he may have called the police, as he had first said he would. And after all those events, I expect him to have done so.

"Did you by any chance… call the police?" I ask tentatively. I'll need to explain to him later why I'm so reluctant to ask for help from authorities, but first I need to know.

He looks at me quizzically. Now he probably _does_ think I own drugs. Nothing I can do about that. "No," he replies. "But I've called some of my colleagues to help me out here."

That reminds me of his experienced fighting skills, accurate use of a gun, and statement of him being a soldier. Even in this kind of life-and-death situation, my curiosity is piqued. Which is probably why I, like the cat, have almost died many times.

"I'm very sorry if this comes off as blunt, especially after all you've done for me, but who are you exactly?"

He hesitates. _Suspicious_, I think, but I am in no position to judge. I wouldn't have been able to answer if I were asked that question, either. I'm not the only one who has secrets.

"My name is Steve Rogers," he finally answers.

I wait expectantly for more information, but that is all he says. I decide to leave it at that. There is always time for more questions later. Though, maybe there isn't. I need to leave soon.

"Sir, you've done the best you could for me, under circumstances." He raises an eyebrow, but I ignore it and carry on. "But I really need to go now. I can't explain why – "

"You're not going anywhere," someone says from the doorway. I jump slightly in surprise and a burning sensation courses through my back again. I curse under my breath. After it subsides enough for me to concentrate, I look at the owner of the voice.

It is a woman with fiery red hair. She is wearing a black suit that tightly fits her body. At the moment she is unaffected and plain. But even through it she is beautiful. She looks vaguely familiar.

"How are you planning on leaving when you can't even sit up?" she asks.

That is a good question. I was hoping to somehow hijack a wheelchair and then recuperate by myself, but now I see that it is out of the question.

"Also, we need you to answer a couple of questions," she carries on.

I am immediately alert. "What do you mean I need to answer questions?" I demand. "I like to keep my privacy, thank you very much. And answer to whom?"

She exchanges looks with the man. _Steve Rogers_, I remind myself. The name sounds vaguely familiar. Where have I heard it before?

"There's no reason to withhold this information, I suppose," she says after a long pause. "We work for an agency called S.H.I.E.L.D. We're interested in some abilities that you are said to have."

S.H.I.E.L.D. _S.H.I.E.L.D. _The agency that is behind –

I stare open-mouthed at the man. "You're Captain America," I say, more as a question than a statement. Now everything makes sense. His strength, his skill, his familiar name…

He nods grimly after a slight hesitation. "Now I see that you're awake, I'll leave."

Before he goes out, I call to him. "Mr. Rogers?" He turns to look at me.

"Thank you for saving me."

He pauses for a second. Then he nods in acknowledgement and then leaves.

The woman is still here. If this is really S.H.I.E.L.D., then I know who she is.

"And you're Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow," I say, turning to her.

The world spins as my brain tries to comprehend all this information. This cannot be happening to me. But it seems to be true.

"How did you associate S.H.I.E.L.D. with those names?" she suddenly demands.

Then I realize my mistake. I should not have let them know I understood the name of S.H.I.E.L.D.

"Um – uh – that's a good question," I stammer out. How am I going to get myself out of this mess?

The woman – Black Widow, which I still cannot believe – continues staring at me, never faltering. I cannot make a good enough excuse.

"You will hold a hearing as soon as the doctor says you are free to go. You can tell us then," she finally says. I sigh silently in relief.

She goes to the door but turns at the last second. "I suggest you organize your thoughts beforehand. It will determine your future." Then she leaves the room.

* * *

She closes the door behind her and does not even flinch when Steve suddenly comes out of the shadows.

"Was it really necessary to tell her so soon?" he asks.

"I found no reason to withhold the information, as I said previously," she replies coolly.

There is an awkward pause as Steve considers his next words. "What do you think Fury will do with her?" he finally asks.

She had wondered this same thing. Though she was not one to meddle in other people's business – she made it a rule to 'keep oneself to oneself' – the girl had unnerved her.

The girl reminded Romanoff too much of herself.

"I'm not entitled to such information."

They part ways. But before he is out of earshot, she says, "But that doesn't mean I can't find out."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello again! I have made the amazing discovery that most writers reply to reviews on the story, rather than via PM!… well, it's not that amazing, but it was a discovery to me.** **So:**

**CrazyPandaHobbit (1): Thank you so much! I couldn't help smiling for the whole day when I read the compliment. Thank you!**

**A Shieldmaiden of Rohan: Thanks! I try to check, and double-check, my writing so I'm happy my grammar is good so far! If you see any typos, please tell me! And yes, we'll find out more about Elizabeth in this and the next chapter, and then there's some action. Ooh~...**

**CrazyPandaHobbit (2): More Black Widow awesomeness in this chapter!**

**Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing! :D**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers. Nice and simple, eh?**

* * *

Before I go to the meeting, I check myself in the mirror. My straight black hair has grown since I last checked. It now hangs below the shoulder. My skin has paled since I last checked but it's still rough from years outdoors. Nevertheless, I haven't looked this clean in months. That's what you get when you're always on the run.

But what always surprise me are my eyes. When I was born, they were a dark, normal brown. Now they are a clear blue.

I'm not sure if I'll have to explain that, too.

Today is finally the day of the hearing. The doctor decided that I was well enough to get out of bed and I was more than willing to get out of that suffocating room. I still walk with a slight limp – moving hurts my back – but other than that, I'm now fine. Unnerved, nervous, and anxious, but 'fine'.

I am escorted to the room by two guards. I'm not sure whether they are here to really just help me or whether they are just stopping me from trying to run away. Though I don't know what possible reason there could be for me to try and escape. I haven't had a chance like this in my whole life. I'm not going to waste it now.

At the end of the long corridor, we stop in front of a room labeled _'Meeting Room III_'. Why on earth such an organization with the newest, advanced technology uses Roman numerals is beyond me.

One of the guards types something into a keypad and the door opens. I take a deep breath and walk inside.

Someone is already sitting at the end of a table with a computer and an unidentifiable device in front of him. He has a shiny bald head that reflects the glare of the harsh spotlight above. There is a mirror on one side of the wall – probably one-sided with a room one the other side. Though I don't see the point of that if the interviewer is on my side. Perhaps it's just a decoration. I take the seat opposite and wait apprehensively.

"Miss Turner, I'm Agent Clark. I'm going to ask you a few questions and you will answer them to the best of your ability."

"And if I don't?" I don't really mean to be aggressive, but I don't like to take orders either.

"You'd rather not find out."

_Guess I'm not the only one who's hostile_, I think.

"We have a lie detector that we will hook up to you here," he gestures to the device on the table, "so don't try and lie," he concludes.

I stay completely still as I'm hooked up to wires. I don't like technology I don't know. Actually, I don't like technology, period. Too many bad memories associated with it. There is a constant beeping as the device registers my heartbeat.

"Now, we'll begin. Is it true that you have supernatural abilities?"

Easy question. "Yes," I reply. I hope that all questions will be as straightforward.

"Describe your abilities."

I pause. "That's a vague question," I start.

"Which calls for a descriptive answer."

"What kind of reasoning is that?"

He narrows his eyes at me. I've just done the one thing that is forbidden during interviews: anger the interviewer. I decide to just answer his question and remind myself to learn to hold my tongue.

"I can move objects from a distance with my mind."

"Telekinesis," Clark interjects.

I nod and he writes it on his computer. "I can also make these… invisible walls… that can reflect any projectile. It's a bit hard to explain but…"

"Display these abilities," he cuts in.

"Now?" I ask. I'm a bit annoyed by his constant interjections. This man really has no manners. Perhaps it's something you lose through training. But I bite back a remark. "It's not something I can easily show…"

"Can you move this cup?" He points to his coffee mug on his right.

"Yes."

He gestures at me to do it. I easily move it side to side. It's light, so it doesn't take up much energy. To show off a bit, I tip the cup but balance the liquid and put it back inside before it hits the table. I gloat inwardly when he is surprised.

"Now the force field," he orders, trying to seem unimpressed. _Too late, mister_, I think, smirking.

I focus my power on the outside of the cup, surrounding it from all sides, envisioning a dome around it. When I am done I nod to him.

Suddenly, he pulls out a revolver and shoots the cup several times. I jump back, immediately on my defense. Just as abruptly, he puts it back in his pocket.

"What the hell was that!" I shout at him. He is typing nonchalantly on his computer.

"I was confirming your statement and judging the extent to which it is true," he replies calmly without looking up. "Sit down."

I stay standing but eventually get tired of waiting. My back hurts too much. With a huff I sit back in my chair. He doesn't seem to notice. When he is done typing, he looks up at me.

"That is all for today. If you are of continued interest we will call you for another meeting. You will go back to your room for now."

"Excuse me? I have some questions of my own and I demand answers!"

"Do not be difficult. Otherwise, we will need to use force."

Behind me, two guards are standing. I hadn't noticed them come in. They don't look all that friendly.

"Fine, I'll go by myself." I go to leave the room but right before I am out of sight I jerk my finger. The cup spills hot coffee all over his pants. I smirk as I hear his curses.

* * *

No one notices her sneak into the room behind the mirror. And even if they do, they don't question her. They aren't that suicidal.

The girl is obviously on edge: she shows it in her attitude and remarks. She keeps chipping her nails under the table. Most people wouldn't notice: it is that subtle. And the girl is trying hard to conceal her unease. But Romanoff was trained to read such behavior.

What she wasn't trained for was the powers the girl shows. S.H.I.E.L.D. had encountered many abnormalities, but this was a new kind of strange. If these powers could be controlled, she would be a powerful tool to any organization. Fury would want her on their side, regardless of age.

When the interview is done, Clark – a new agent, she reasons, since she hadn't seen him before – goes to one of the computer rooms. He uploads his report onto the system. As soon as he leaves, she slides into one of the chairs and accesses the file.

She is surprised to see the headline '_Rejected_' on the first page. She quickly scans the document and sees the words '_unorthodox_', '_false_', and '_no powers_'. But Romanoff had seen with her own eyes what the girl could do. Why had Clark lied in the report?

But that is not important now. This document would be sent to Fury any second now, in this state.

That could be fixed.

Romanoff flexes her fingers and starts to type.


End file.
